


After Battle, Tighten Your Armour

by cheshire_carroll



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Hermione Granger, BAMF Ron Weasley, Dumbledore's Army, Gen, International Confederation of Wizards (Harry Potter), Multi, Not Ministry of Magic Friendly, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-War, Revolution, The Deathly Hallows, bamf golden trio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 23:54:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22007542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshire_carroll/pseuds/cheshire_carroll
Summary: Wars end, but that doesn't mean peace. Not always. Not for those who've fought and bled and sacrificed to free their world from a monster wearing the mask of humanity.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter/Ron Weasley
Comments: 30
Kudos: 671
Collections: 5 Star HP Works





	1. There can be no triumph without loss

_**ONE** _

Wars end, but that doesn't mean peace. Not always. Not for those who've fought and bled and sacrificed to free their world from a monster wearing the mask of humanity.

As Hermione stood with Harry and Ron in the wreckage of her old school, her home of six years where she had grown from a lonely, insecure child to a loved, confident young woman, she tried to stop her hands from trembling. It didn't work. She felt jittery, wound tight like she was about to snap, and she was quietly terrified of what would happen if she did. On her right, silent tears streaked pale tracks through the dirt and blood on Ron's freckled face. On her left, Harry stared into empty space with a haunted, hollow look in his green eyes.

Hermione _hurt_. It was a hurt sunk deep into her bones, her heart and her very soul, the aching pain of loss– the loss of the dregs of her innocence, of now-deceased loved ones, of once iron-clad beliefs, of the very foundation that had so steadfastly held her world together. The trembling in her hands spread out until her whole body was shaking and she had to gasp for breath as the world spun sickeningly around her. It was shock, a distant part of her noted; she was in shock.

Two familiar sets of arms wrapped around her, both her boys hugging her, holding her together when she could feel herself threatening to shake apart. She lifted her head, turned her face up just enough that she could press her lips to Ron's. The kiss tasted of iron, salt and desperation.

Harry's arms loosened as he started to let go, to pull back, and it was Ron who stopped him. Ron who, in the office that would always be Dumbledore's, no matter who was Headmaster-or-mistress of Hogwarts, roughly cupped the back of Harry's neck with a hand smeared rust-red and pulled him forwards into a kiss.

They'd spent a year together on the run; hungry, tired, afraid and fiercely devoted to each other, determined that the other two should live. Not even a horcrux, the foulest of all magic, had been able to drive them apart for long. And with the sudden, euphoric realisation that their biggest monster had been defeated, all they could do, all _she_ could do, was cling as closely to her two boys as she could.

In Tolkien's words: " _There can be no triumph without loss. No victory without suffering. No freedom without sacrifice_." It was a terrible truth she'd learned young, at the knees of her father as he read her great classics, painting colourful fantasies of magical rings and brave heroes and immortal enemies in her mind that would later make her look back and laugh bitterly.

They were hunted children, thrust in the midst of a civil war where children should have no place, with the weight of the future of all of Wizarding Britain on their hunched and huddled shoulders. But they'd done it. After spending the death throes of their childhood on the run, they'd slain their monster, their storybook villain, and for the first time in a year there was no price on their heads, no promise of a grisly death should a mistake lead to their capture.

And maybe falling into (a metaphorical) bed with each other wasn't a normal response, but the need between them for human contact, for comfort and reassurance and a reminder that they were all still alive, even when so many others weren't, easily overrode the shyness and inhibitions normal teenagers unaffected by the devastation of a brutal civil war would instinctively cling to.

After so much death, all Hermione wanted was to feel alive, for however brief the moment may be, and to know that her boys were alive too; the three of them always together, always surviving– the way it had been since they were eleven and twelve year olds brought together by chance, just beginning to learn the true depravity of the world and develop the unbreakable bond between them that came from experiencing near-death and fighting for their lives.

The three of them ended up on the ground of Dumbledore's office, a tangle of bruised and weary limbs, of desperate, dirty hands and urgent, biting kisses and sweet, clumsy movements. They fell asleep, after, curled up together on the office floor, under a transfigured blanket and clutching onto each other so tight it was as if they'd never let go.

It was Minerva McGonagall who found them when their dawn victory had aged to afternoon, her hair now more grey then black and hanging free and tangled nearly to her hips instead of in its usual tight bun. She was wearing a plain, conservative tartan dress in place of the emerald green or black teaching robes that Hermione had only twice seen her without, once in her dress-robes at the Yule Ball and once in her night-clothes, the night Dumbledore had died.

McGonagall said nothing about the compromising state she found the three of them in, weary sympathy and quiet understanding evident on her lined face to go with the deep-seated tiredness in her eyes that went far beyond lack of sleep and a drawn out battle for the liberation of Hogwarts– and the entirety of Magical Great Britain.

"There is a representative from the Ministry of Magic wanting to speak to you all," she told them, keeping her back turned as they hastily pulled back on their dirty and torn t-shirts, jumpers and trousers. Hermione summoned her boots from wherever they'd ended up then hurriedly combed her hands through the mess of her hair, wincing as her fingers caught and snagged in the tangles and snarls. Ron's larger hands gently took over, pulling the wild curls back out of her face and into a semi-tidy braid with easy, practiced movements that spoke of familiarity.

Harry, meanwhile, was hunting for his glasses, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown as he eventually located them and slid them on. "What do you mean, there's a representative from the Ministry? What Ministry? The one that cowered and kow-towed and served the agenda of Voldemort and his Death Eaters? The one too cowardly to do anything but follow the new laws put in place by a terrorist group bent on the systematic persecution and genocide of all muggleborns? _That_ pathetic excuse for a 'Ministry of Magic'?" He demanded, rough and bitter, as he stood and then held out his hands to help pull her and Ron to their feet. "What authority could they possibly be thick enough to think that they hold now? Who do they think here actually respects them enough to think they have any governing power over us at all?"

Hermione wasn't surprised when McGonagall's mouth twitched into a smile. It wasn't a nice smile, but Hermione found herself bolstered by the fierce glint in the older witch's eyes, a reminder of the lioness that her old Head of House truly was, and she automatically straightened up in response to the sight of it, fresh strength lent to her aching body and cold steel strengthening her spine.

"Those are very good questions, Harry," McGonagall said, a hard edge to her Scottish brogue. "You should ask this 'representative' for the answers– I'm quite interested to know them myself."

Ron smiled back at McGonagall in a way that was more a baring of his teeth then anything else. "Don't worry, Professor," he said, blunt and bold in a way that was pure Ron. "We'll do just that."

"The crimes of wartime are committed by human beings, not by abstract entities," Hermione agreed coldly, a vicious bite to her words as she added her own two knuts to the discussion. "And any plea from members of the Ministry that they cannot be held guilty for actions which were ordered by a superior officer or official, or that they only obeyed for fear of their own lives and wellbeing, will be given the exact leniency it deserves– Muggles established decades ago that 'following orders' was not a sufficient explanation for committing morally abhorrent actions. Neither is the defence of obeying to save your own skin enough to escape punishment, just to merely, on a case by case basis, sometimes lessen punishment."

McGonagall's smile had widened and the older woman dabbed at her suddenly wet eyes with a hastily conjured handkerchief. "You three make me proud," she told them, her voice slightly choked. "And please, call me Minerva. You have all more then earned the right for us to address each other on equal standing."

Making their way through Hogwarts down to the Great Hall was heartbreaking. So much of the castle had been tainted by battle, evident in the physical destruction around them, the lingering impression of Dark, evil magicks that had been cast inside the once-sacred, hallowed halls of learning and the dark stains on the stone beneath their feet where blood had dried in the hours that had passed since the fighting had ended.

Hermione wanted to cry and scream and, as it always did when she reached a sufficient level of anger, a terrible clarity descended over her mind, an iron realism that gave her the control to bite back the emotional responses that begged to spill from her lips.

The waiting Ministry official was a portly wizard who was sweating excessively, likely due to the fact that very few faces around the Great Hall were at all welcoming, with a fair few in fact appearing the very opposite. Hermione counted herself amongst that number— a large proportion of which, she bitterly noted, were muggleborns. She wasn't surprised. Under the directives of Voldemort's murderous rule or not, the British Ministry of Magic had still mercilessly persecuted her people for the crime of existing and she could never forget that— nor was she anywhere close to trying for forgiveness; she wasn't sure that she ever would be.

"Harry Potter!" The Ministry representative exclaimed in obvious relief upon spotting Harry. He hurried over, his strained smile only slightly belying the genuine worship evident in his wide-eyed gaze as he stopped just short of them, his eyes never leaving her best friend as he stuck out his hand to shake his. "The hero of the hour!" 

"And who are you?" Harry asked, a distinct lack of warmth in his voice as he failed to reach out to shake the wizard's hand. Awkwardly, the man dropped his hand, more sweat beading up on his forehead.

"I— I am Trevor, Trevor Davies, I work at the Ministry of Magic," he stammered. "I was granted the honour to be the one to approach you and announce that for your services rendered to Magical Britain, you are being awarded an Order of the Merlin First Class!"

Davies looked at Harry expectantly, as if he was expecting her best friend to be excited and overjoyed that he'd been honoured with such a _prestigious_ award (so prestigious, in fact, that even _Pettigrew_ had been awarded one).

But Hermione knew why the Ministry had decided to award the Order of Merlin to Harry, why they'd chosen to make such a spectacle of the announcement. "You think we don't know what you're doing?" She asked softly, poisonously, the Great Hall quiet enough that her voice carried to all inside it. "You're trying to restore your tattered reputation— the Ministry has been our enemy for the last year, it's been hated and feared and avoided whenever and wherever possible. By getting whoever you've decided to appoint as the Minister of Magic to award the wizard who defeated Voldemort the most prestigious prize you have makes your _new_ stance undeniable."

Ugly whispers started up across the Hall, the sound like the angry, agitated buzzing of a kicked hornet's nest— to be exact, the hornet's nest that _she_ had just kicked. And Hermione wasn't about to stop there, not when the representative was looking so flustered yet at the same time wholly indignant.

"Well— that is to say— yes, working to restore faith in the fairness of the Ministry of Magic to foster our new peace is the reason we've decided to award Mr. Potter so soon after his victory," he conceded, "but those of us who work at the Ministry cannot be blamed for following the orders given to us when we were afraid for our lives, should we not follow them!" He defended, like that was any kind of justification. "We just did as we were told, as anyone in our positions would! Surely you can see that!"

" _Just_ _doing what you were told_ is not a sufficient explanation for committing morally abhorrent acts!" Hermione spat at him. "Muggles established in an International Court of Law after World War II that 'following orders' was not an excuse against committing what was labelled 'crimes against humanity'– namely, murder, extermination, enslavement, deportation, and other inhumane acts committed against any civilian population, before or during the war; or persecution on political, racial, or religious ground.

"All muggleborns will be aware or have knowledge of, to some degree, the Nuremberg Trials, which set a global precedent for dealing with genocide, crimes against humanity, crimes against peace and other assorted war crimes– a precedence that, magical or not, we as citizens of Great Britain are _obligated_ to follow! You can rest assured that we _will not rest_ until _everyone_ even tangentially responsible for the crimes against us all have been indicted, placed on trial and appropriately prosecuted for their actions." She promised then and there, both Harry and Ron standing tall on either side of her, unyielding pillars of support.

"If I'd _just done what I was told_ and turned myself in for 'questioning' to the Ministry, then I would be dead and Voldemort would still be alive and at large, terrorising all of Wizarding Britain," Harry said, looking disgustedly over at Davies. 

"That your life was spared means nothing to all those whose who were irrevocably damaged or even killed as a result of your self-serving actions– you saved yourselves at the cost of others and that is not a government I will ever accept." Hermione finished coldly, her lip curled in disgust.

"What do you mean you won't accept?" Blustered the wizard. "We are the Ministry! You _have_ to accept us!"

Hermione gave one short laugh, the sound of it harsh and ugly. "No," she then said, shaking her head in a single sharp movement. "No, I don't. And on behalf of every witch and wizard who risked their lives to stand up against Voldemort and his Death Eaters and every muggleborn persecuted under your corrupt laws, let me tell you one undeniable truth," she stepped forwards and smiled dangerously at Davies, "I'll summarise it into a quote by one of my favourite authors– _you have no power here_. So why don't you just _fuck off!_ "

In the sudden, shocked silence that stretched out within the Great Hall, it was an unexpected figure who stood up first and started to clap. Draco Malfoy was wan-faced with dark purple smudges under his eyes and split lips from Ron's knuckles, but there was no malice in his gaze, nothing pandering or placating in the steady way he met her eyes as he clapped.

A grinning Neville was next to stand, clapping heartily, his grandmother barely a heartbeat behind him, fierce pride evident on her lined, wrinkled face, then Susan Bones, her eyes red and puffy and her mouth set with fury, then Seamus, who stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled like a muggle umpire, the sound loud and piercing in the mostly-silent Hall.

Then it was Hagrid, and Percy, and Dean, Luna, Parvati, Molly, Arthur, Minerva, Kingsley, Sprout, Aberforth, Rosmerta, Flitwick and more; it was the Hufflepuffs, the Gryffindors, the Ravenclaws, the Slytherins who'd stayed and fought against the Death Eaters, the professors, the DA, the Order, the Hogsmeade residents, the elves and the centaurs; it was the fighters of Hogwarts, uniting as one body in response to her words and Hermione could feel the swell of emotion and pride and fierce vindication within her, lending strength to her weary bones as she and her boys destabilised and set into motion the dismantlement of their second corrupt government in less then twenty-four hours.

"You should go," Harry advised the flabbergast 'representative', "before we put you in the dungeons with the rest of the Death Eaters."

_"And you can kiss their arses–"_

_"Go get fucked you–!"_

"– _lick their boots!"_

_"–go suck their—!"_

_"—cowardly worms, crawling in the gutter!"_

Hermione was almost amused by how hastily Davies fled the Great Hall, spurred by the shouts and jeers of the angry populace. "I have a feeling we're going to be the ones who have to sort out this mess now," she told her boys wryly and they both grinned at her, Ron nudging her playfully with his shoulder.

"Worth it," he said, and Harry nodded, green eyes bright and gleeful.

"So, so worth it." He agreed.


	2. No victory without suffering

_**TWO** _

"Your work over the last several months has been invaluable, Ms. Granger," Babajide Akingbade, the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, complimented her in his deep, powerful voice.

"You've impressed us all," Babajide's second-in-command Sabrina Picquery, niece of the now-retired Madam President of MACUSA, Seraphina Picquery, agreed warmly.

Hermione smiled tiredly back at them both. The months following the Battle of Hogwarts had been exhausting, to say the least. There was no rest to be had after she and her boys had destabilised the British Ministry of Magic by rising up in a refusal to acknowledge it as the governing body and measures had to be taken immediately to ensure that Magical Britain didn't descend into unlawful chaos.

With Augusta Longbottom and Minerva's aid, she, Harry and Ron had gotten into contact with Babajide and Sabrina and within hours the ICW had helped them to assemble an interim government which had then officially welcomed foreign law enforcement and the ICW peace-keeping taskforce into Britain for their help in assisting the Order to round up Death Eaters, Snatchers and Ministry employees alike. 

While the Death Eaters and Snatchers were immediately sent to Nurmengard to await trial, the Ministry employees were transferred to America's MACUSA headquarters where they were interrogated with veritaserum, the ICW having approved its usage in order to sort out those who could be released versus those who would be required to stand trial for their actions under Voldemort's puppet government.

The trials themselves took place in the Hague, in a courtroom only accessible to those with magic, and were conducted with the least amount of bias possible; no one even tangentially connected to Voldemort's Blood Wars was able to be part of the juries or preside as judge over the trials.

As veritaserum was authorised to be used on every defendant, there was no option of claiming the Imperius— pureblood or not, every witch and wizard was judged for the crimes they'd committed and sentenced to Nurmengard, until a time that Britain had a new, permanent government with a functional justice system place so they could either build their own prison or open up Azkaban once more (which was unlikely, considering the number of muggleborns who'd been systematically imprisoned and murdered within its walls).

Hermione hadn't missed a single trial, nor for that matter had Harry or Ron. Neville had also attended a majority of them, along with Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott. Neville, Hannah and Susan had apparently worked together to run the Hogwarts resistance after Luna had been taken away at Christmas and Ginny had failed to return after Easter. Neville and Hannah, Hermione was amused but happy to see, had developed some sort of currently undefined 'thing' between them, which meant that Susan had ended up spending a lot of time in her, Harry and Ron's company.

They hadn't minded Susan's presence at all— the war had stripped the softness Hermione remembered from the orphaned Hufflepuff, leaving behind a sharpened young woman with hard eyes and a fierce sense of justice that rivalled her aunt Amelia Bones, who had been head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement before Voldemort himself had murdered her.

While the trials were taking place, the ICW had also lent its support in turning the interim government into one that was solid, stable, functional and fair. Augusta Longbottom had been selected as temporary Minister of Magic, while Gawain Robards was chosen to run the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Arthur was chosen to run the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes (which involved the vitally important Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters and Muggle Liaison Office) and Sabine Greengrass and Kingsley Shacklebolt were chosen to be the temporary joint heads of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, where they spent a majority of their time liaising with the ICW— incidentally, Minerva had been appointed the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, with Pomona Sprout as her Deputy.

It was slow, tiring work, with much protest given by indignant purebloods unhappy about the upset of the hierarchy that had been maintained for so long. Too bad for them that Hermione was completely out of fucks to give about their precious blood purity, as was just about everyone who'd fought against Voldemort or been persecuted by his puppet government— which was basically everyone who didn't share their 'pure' blood, or was considered a 'blood traitor'.

Change was sweeping across Magical Great Britain and Ireland, whether people liked it or not. The corrupt government had been crushed to rubble and splinters and a new institution was being built in its place. It was, in Hermione's opinion, a thing of beauty— a creation born of the hard work, courage and resilience of those who'd fought and bled and sacrificed for it. She, Harry and Ron had become the figureheads for the change, which she supposed she should have expected, and Hermione had thrown her heart and soul into fighting for justice and fairness and equality in the new government— and her efforts had been noticed.

She'd been involved in multiple meetings with Babajide, Sabrina and Augusta where she'd argued, disagreed, challenged and fiercely debated with them and many other high-ranking witches and wizards of international importance without hesitation or fear, and her passion, intelligence, dedication and insight had been taken note of. She wouldn't say she was shocked when Babajide and Sabrina had approached her, following the final trial in which an Azkaban guard had been fined two hundred and fifty galleons in reparation for his role in the mistreatment of muggleborns and political prisoners sent to Azkaban, but it was still an honour.

Babajide and Sabrina were internationally renowned for not only their power and intelligence but for their work in politics, and for them to praise her for her work over the past few months was certainly worthy of her pride.

"And congratulations on your knighthood," Sabrina added and Hermione automatically cringed.

"Oh Merlin, that isn't common knowledge, is it?" She asked.

"You should be proud, Dame Commander," Sabrina told her with an amused curl of her lips. "It's an honour— and a well-deserved one at that."

Unsurprisingly, the Queen of the United Kingdom was fully aware of the existence of the magical world– and as such, had been fully aware of the grave danger Voldemort had posed to the muggle population of Great Britain. Such had her gratitude been towards her, Harry and Ron for removing the threat, she'd appointed all three of them to the Civil Division of the Most Honourable Order of Bath for their "performance of public duties" that "merited royal favour". A cover-story involving the recent wave of terrorism Voldemort and his Death Eaters were responsible for had been spun to the muggle populace in explanation and Hermione had found herself with an entirely unexpected and largely unwanted title.

"It feels too strange to be real," she admitted, "like a scene out of a novel or film."

"Magic, witches, wizards, heroes, knights and royalty– that does sound like the recipe for a fairytale," Sabrina agreed with a laugh.

"All of this feels like a fairytale, honestly," Hermione sighed, "I've been arguably fighting this war since I was twelve years old and now— now it's _over_. We've _won_." She couldn't help but shake her head slightly in disbelief.

"Your victory was well earned, Miss Granger. You fought long and hard for it; even when the Blood War was won and most would have surrendered to peace, you refused to allow your people to return to a government ruled by a hierarchy of purity and prejudice. We all commend you, Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley for leading the change." Babajide said and Hermione smiled faintly at him.

"Well, you know how the proverb goes— ' _after battle, tighten your armour_ '. There was no point resting on our laurels just because the war was over, not when there were and still are more battles to be fought, and fights to be won."

And as Plato had once said, ' _only the dead have seen the end of war_ '.

"Well now that you have won this specific battle, what are your plans going forwards? Do you intend on returning to Hogwarts to complete your schooling?" Sabrina asked curiously and Hermione paused.

"I was considering it, but..." but Hogwarts no longer felt like _home_ ; she'd visited it multiple times in the months following the Final Battle, had been one of several witches and wizards who'd been asked to contribute their magic to the rebuilding of the wards, and it had felt like everywhere she looked all she could see were echoes of violence, suffering and death.

Hogwarts didn't feel like a school to her, instead it felt like a graveyard.

"I thought that might be the case," Sabrina said quietly, a gentle understanding in her eyes.

"I'll always love Hogwarts," Hermione murmured, because it was the truth, "but loving something doesn't mean it can't hurt you."

"Wise words," Babajide rumbled. 

"Well I have an offer for you— for Harry and Ron too, if they'll take it," Sabrina said. "I'm on Ilvermorny's board of governors and we've unanimously agreed that we'd be honored to offer you a place at the school— on full scholarship, of course." She smiled, seeing Hermione's surprise. "Don't go looking so shocked, I'm just the one who managed to get in my offer first— I know for a fact Madam Maxime is already planning on offering you a place at Beauxbatons and you've quite won over Fumio; he's always singing your praises and he's on the board of Mahoutokoro, so I wouldn't be surprised if he was to offer you a place there too."

"And should you wish, there is a place for you at the Uagadou School of Magic," Babajide added with a smile. "You are quite extraordinary, Miss Granger."

"I... thank you," Hermione said, proud that she'd managed to keep her voice steady, although neither Babajide and Sabrina looked fooled by her apparent composure. 

"Think on it," Sabrina said kindly. "Discuss it with your loved ones. There's time yet, before the American school term begins."

"I will." Hermione promised, surprising herself when she realised she meant it.

After saying her farewells to Sabrina and Babajide, Hermione went to go find Harry and Ron while deep in thought about Sabrina and Babajide's offers, contemplating the new pathways available to her that she hadn't even considered before. It almost felt like a betrayal, to consider attending a school other than Hogwarts, and yet... she _did_ want to complete her education, she just couldn't do it at Hogwarts. So why shouldn't she seize the opportunity she'd been given?

Harry and Ron were with Neville, Hannah, and Susan, as well as various other members of the DA who'd come to watch the last trial, including Ginny and Luna— and, though he wasn't a member of the DA, Draco Malfoy.

It turned out that after all that time in the Malfoy's cellar, Luna had developed an attachment to Draco Malfoy. After one of the mind-healers employed by the ICW confirmed it wasn't Stockholm Syndrome, Luna's character witness, his age and the defense of extenuating circumstances had led to Draco's sentencing being lightened to one of community service instead of prison. It wasn't forgiveness for _following orders_ , but as she'd said; in a case by case basis, such a defence could occasionally lead to a lightening of a sentence, especially when a minor was involved.

Seeing as Malfoy Manor had been seized as a crime scene and all the Malfoy assets frozen, Luna had opened her home to the traumatised, depressed young man (and she was quoting the ICW mind-healers there). Hermione had no idea what to make of the... _thing_ clearly developing between the two of them, but she had enough confidence in the strength, fortitude and kindness of Luna to not interfere. Ron, Harry, and Neville, unsurprisingly, took some more convincing— and while Susan remained neutral, Hannah, thankfully, was on her side and she'd helped her and Luna straighten them all out.

"I can't believe it's over," Neville kept repeating in disbelief, a sentiment echoed by everyone present though Hannah eventually pulled him into a kiss to shut him up.

Except apparently, it wasn't over, not for her, Harry and Ron anyway, because while everyone else was laughing, hugging and even crying, Harry pulled her and Ron aside for a word. "I need to talk to you both," he muttered, looking uneasy— an expression ill-suited to the celebratory atmosphere around them. "There's... a problem."

Ron immediately groaned. "Is a peaceful life really too much to ask for?" he asked mournfully.

"Oh shut up— you'd be bored and you know it," Harry said with a tired grin, before his amused expression faded back into seriousness. "But yeah, I have a problem."

"Which means _we_ have a problem," Hermione concluded, "because we're a _team_."

"Don't try going off on your own, mate, you know how that always ends," Ron agreed firmly.

"Alright, alright," Harry agreed, smiling at them both with gratitude in his eyes, " _we_ have a problem."


	3. No freedom without sacrifice

_**THREE** _

After begging out of the celebratory night of drinking Seamus and Dean had planned and passing on their farewells to the DA, the three of them apparated back to Grimmauld Place where they'd been living when they weren't staying in the Netherlands for the trials.

With how busy they'd been throughout the trials and establishment of a new government, however, they'd barely had time to sit down together for dinner, and even with Harry's ominous talk looming over them they decided to eat first. Dinner was delicious, as always, and Kreacher's treacle-tarts were the best she'd ever tasted– the dotty old elf adored baking the dessert for Harry.

It wasn't until after they'd finished eating that they retired to the living room with glasses of Odgen's finest in polished crystal wine-glasses that Harry had purchased to cheer Kreacher up over Mundungus stealing all the Black family heirloom dinner-sets.

"So," Hermione said as she folded her legs up under her on the squashy couch she'd claimed as hers (part of a set that Harry had also recently bought, this time to replace the stiff velvet couches that had been favoured by the Blacks) and let the warmth of the merrily crackling fireplace soak into her, "what's wrong?"

"It's not... hugely disastrous," Harry said slowly and she and Ron traded exasperated looks.

"So on a scale of disaster then, are we talking more Norbert or Grawp?" Ron asked dryly.

"Leaning more towards Aragog, actually," Harry admitted and Ron immediately blanched.

"Oh _fuck_ ," he breathed, and Hermione quite agreed with the horror on his face, "that's _bad_ , Harry— that's _really_ bad. That's ' _follow the spiders_ ' levels of hugely, disastrously bad!"

"Look," Harry interrupted Ron before he could start working himself into a panic, and her along with him, "I didn't want to worry you guys, not when we had all the trials going on and I was trying to fix it myself, but... fuck, it's easier just to show you."

Before her and Ron's stunned eyes, Harry literally reached out to the air in front of him and drew from it three hauntingly, horrifyingly familiar objects— a silvery cloak that spilled from his hands and pooled over his lap like liquid, a strangely carved wand and a cracked black stone attached to a scratched and tarnished gold band.

"We watched you break that wand," Hermione whispered, feeling like she'd just been plunged headfirst into the Black Lake during winter. "And— you said you dropped the stone. In the Forbidden Forest."

"I did," Harry said miserably, dumping the Hallows on the couch beside him then running a hand through his hair, looking tired and stressed. "I broke the Wand into seven pieces then buried them all in different places and I never went back for the Stone. Then the next time I picked up the Invisibility Cloak, the Wand and the Stone just spilled out of it." Harry looked at them both with desperate eyes. "I swear I've tried _everything_ — I chucked them into a volcano, threw them into the Mariana Trench, got Charlie to help me let a dragon burn them to cinders... I even destroyed the Cloak too, in case keeping it in one piece kept the others from being destroyed, but _nothing_ _works_."

Hermione wanted very much to yell at Harry for being an idiot and not coming to her and Ron sooner, but he looked so exhausted, anxious and unhappy that yelling at him would have felt too much like kicking a puppy. Instead, she chewed on her lip, thinking.

"What about... what about the Veil?" She asked.

"Tried it," Harry admitted. "I threw all three of them into it."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Fiendfyre?"

"I don't want to talk about that," Harry shuddered, which she took for confirmation and winced in sympathy.

"Sword of Gryffindor?" Ron offered up.

"Nothing."

"Basilisk venom straight from the fang?"

"Nope."

"Phoenix tears?"

"N— what?" Harry and Ron both looked at her in confusion. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at them— then she remembered where she was and who she was talking to and rolled them anyway.

"If they're Dark objects, then something pure like phoenix tears could destroy them," she lectured her boys, "we _did_ learn about this in class."

"Huh," Ron said thoughtfully, "don't remember it." He then turned to Harry. "How'd you get Fawkes to appear again?" he asked and Harry shrugged.

"Killed Voldemort."

"I meant in the Chamber," Ron said, snorting slightly. "Though I certainly wouldn't mind watching you kill the fucker again."

"Hear hear," Hermione agreed, wondering if the three of them had possibly had a bit too much wine when they all started laughing.

"But seriously," Ron said, once they'd all calmed down again, "how did you get Fawkes to come help you?"

"Dumbledore said I had to have shown him great loyalty, to have caused Fawkes to appear to me," Harry answered with a shrug. "Which I'm not sure, because I was mostly trying to scare Riddle when I said Dumbledore wasn't as gone as he might think, but—"

A sudden swell of music filling the room had Harry go abruptly silent, the three of them trading wide-eyed looks of shock. Eerie, spine-tingling and unearthly, the phoenix song lifted the hair on Hermione's scalp and made her heart feel as though it was swelling to twice its normal size. Then, as it reached such a pitch that she felt it vibrating inside her own ribcage, flames erupted above the squashy sofa Harry was sitting on and a familiar crimson bird with a glittering golden tail as long as a peacock's, gleaming golden talons and a long, sharp golden beak appeared, hovering in the air for a few seconds as he sang the last notes of his song before landing gently on the arm of the couch, folding his great wings as he settled comfortably and let out a musical-sounding coo.

"It's lovely to see you Fawkes," Hermione said, slightly breathless but first to get over her shock long enough to speak— Ron was still staring slack-jawed at the phoenix and Harry appeared briefly overcome by emotion. Fawkes let out a happy-sounding trill in response to her greeting before rubbing his feathery head against Harry's cheek with a soft coo.

"'Lo Fawkes," Harry murmured and the scene between the two seemed so intensely private that Hermione wanted to look away. Before she could, however, Harry cleared his throat and gestured towards where he'd dumped the Deathly Hallows beside him on the couch. "We're trying to destroy these— do you reckon you could try crying on them?" He asked hopefully.

Fawkes tilted his head, peering down at the Deathly Hallows with a beady-black eye before letting out a low trill, shaking his head. "Does that mean phoenix tears won't work?" Hermione asked with a sinking heart and Fawkes trilled again, this time bobbing his head up and down. "Damn it," she sighed, before looking back to Harry. "Well, I can do some research, of course, but... well, I don't imagine I'll find anything I could have missed while searching for methods to destroy Horcruxes."

"I thought the same," Harry admitted with no small amount of resignation.

"So what are we going to do?" Ron asked and Harry shot him a grateful smile.

"I thought..." he hesitated slightly, before appearing to steel himself. "I thought that if any of this Master of Death bollocks is true, then I don't want it and I don't want the Hallows— but I also think they're too powerful to risk falling into someone else's hands. So... I thought we could split them up and each be responsible for one."

"Blimey," Ron said weakly and Hermione felt similarly thrown. Harry leaned forwards in response, a fierce look on his face as his eyes met each of theirs.

"I trust you two with my life," he said strongly. "And I _definitely_ trust you with these," he gestured at the Hallows. Hermione felt tears prick at her eyes.

"I love you too," she sniffled and both Harry and Ron laughed, causing her to playfully scowl at them before flicking wandless tinging hexes in their direction. "So how will it work?" She asked, smiling briefly when they both squawked before settling back into seriousness. "I assume you'll want to keep the Cloak, Harry?"

"Yeah," he agreed, rubbing his arm where her hex had hit him, "that is, if it's okay with you two?"

"You don't even have to ask, mate," Ron said firmly and Hermione nodded her agreement.

"Which leaves the Ring and the Wand," she mused, looking over at the Hallows in question. Ron cleared his throat awkwardly.

"If it's alright with you, Hermione... I don't think it would be a good idea, me having the Stone," he said quietly. "I'd be too tempted."

Hermione closed her eyes against the reflexive wave of pain that Ron's quiet confession brought with them. Fred had been lost to them for months now, but the wound of his absence was just as fresh and raw as if he'd died only moments ago, gouging deeply into all of them— Hermione couldn't even imagine the agony his _brother's_ death must be causing Ron, not when she was hurting so much from losing her friend.

"Besides," Ron added, having to clear his throat before he could talk, "I need a new handle for my window— a bit of that muggle 'super glue' stuff you showed dad, Hermione, and I reckon the Elder Wand will be perfect for the job."

Hermione laughed at that, the sound only slightly watery. "It would certainly be the last place people think to search for the infamous Deathstick itself." She agreed.

"Great," Harry said relieved, picking up the Wand and Stone. "Here— catch," he tossed each Hallow at them and Hermione caught the Stone with ease. It felt warm to touch, which surprised her— she'd imagined it to feel cold, like ice ( _like death_ ). As she stared down at the cracked black stone with trepidation, the worn band of scratched, tarnished gold it was set in gave her an idea.

" _Accio necklace_ ," she murmured, picturing the long silver necklace she kept upstairs with her belongings. After half a minute, it soared into the room and she caught it easily, opening the clasp so she could thread the delicate-looking chain of silver links she'd charmed to be unbreakable through the ring before carefully fastening it around her neck. The necklace was long enough that the Stone was hidden under her blouse, nestled down below her breasts— out of sight and hopefully out of mind, where it could forever remain.

"I'll keep looking for a way to destroy them," she told Harry, as she turned her attention back to her boys. "I'll have a lot more access to resources once the school year starts."

"You're returning to Hogwarts then?" Harry asked, both him and Ron looking at her in surprise. "I thought you'd decided against it."

"I can't even imagine being back there," Ron said quietly, a minute tremble in his hands as he rolled the Elder Wand between his palms. "Not when..."

Not when Fred had died there, along with Remus and Tonks and Lavender and Colin and so many others.

"I couldn't either," Hermione agreed, just as quietly. "Too many memories. But I was speaking to Babajide and Sabrina today—"

"I love how you're on first name basis with the Supreme Mugwump and his second in command," Ron interrupted with a grin and she rolled her eyes playfully at him.

"Hush you," she scolded the interruption before continuing, "as I said, I was speaking to them today and they offered me places at Ilvermorny and Uagadou— and Sabrina says that I'll be offered a place at Beauxbatons and likely Mahoutokoro too."

"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed, his blue eyes wide. "That's bloody brilliant, that is!" Hermione felt herself flush in pleasure at the open admiration on both her boys' faces.

"I can't speak for the others, but Sabrina offered you both places at Ilvermorny too," she added hopefully, but Harry was already shaking his head.

"I've been offered the position as reserve Seeker for England's Quidditch team," he told them, "their Seeker is planning to retire in a year's time, so they want to train me to take her place. And... I think I'm going to accept it."

"And I've been thinking," Ron said quietly, "I want to help George keep his and Fred's dream alive. I'm not an inventor, not like Fred, but I can help with the practical side of things for the shop— inventory, cleaning, stocking, advertising, working the counter..." he trailed off, shrugging. "It's not the most exciting job ever, but... I think I could do it well enough to make Fred proud."

"There are muggle courses, you know, business ones," Hermione told Ron, so utterly proud of him in a way she couldn't quite put in words so she let him see it in her face, her eyes, instead. Ron's ears immediately burned red and Fawkes let out a soft crooning sound. "I could enrol you in one, some are only a few weeks long and they'd teach you all sorts of skills necessary for running a business."

"I'd like that," he told her, gratitude shining in his warm blue eyes.

"So we're going to be an International Seeker, a businessman and...?" Harry turned to her, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"I don't quite know," Hermione confessed, "I suppose I was thinking that after I graduate I might move into politics."

"But I thought you wanted to do some good in the world," Ron teased her before laughing and shaking his head. "Bloody hell, can't say I saw any of this happening, back when we were doing careers counselling with McGo— uh, with _Minerva_ and the Toad!"

"I think that's a good thing, though," Hermione said thoughtfully. "We're not the same people we were back then, our dreams and priorities have changed. And... I'm going to accept Sabrina's offer. Ilvermorny is an English-speaking school and I've heard wonderful things about it— one of its founders was a muggle, you know."

"Really?" Harry asked in surprise. "That's strange and kind of whacky— in a good way, of course, but it's definitely weird."

"Want to know what's even weirder?" Hermione asked with a laugh, "the other founder was a Gaunt, a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin— and she was married to the muggle!"

"I think I like Ilvermorny already," Harry said with a grin. "You'll have to invite us to visit."

"I will," Hermione promised, already planning the letter she was going to write Sabrina in the morning— there was no point in waiting, not when she'd already made her decision.

"Here's to the future," Harry said, picking up his wine glass with a smile. Hermione and Ron picked up theirs and they all clinked the glasses together.

"To the future," Ron agreed, and Hermione, her heart swelling with love, beamed at her boys.

"To the future."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Just a short story, that one day I might lengthen and make into a crossover (I do love my crossovers), but as of now it is complete <3

**Author's Note:**

> I was never happy with the way the Malfoys seemed to just get off scot-free at the end. This is my take on what I think should have happened, after the Final Battle.


End file.
